The Drifting
by rustysilverlining
Summary: This is my first fan fic, so bear with me. Sirius was my favorite character, and I couldn't stomach his death- partly because it didn't make sense to me. So I wrote a piece where he had been pulled back from behind the veil and gotten to live his life... but I guess it wasn't so easy to give him a happy ending. So here it is! Please comment/review- I want to know what you think!
1. Prelude

"Once upon a time, Lily, your father was young." Elise looked around briefly before smiling. "And _devastatingly _handsome."

"_Once_?"Sirius laughed, ducking into the kitchen. "Oh no, I think you must be mistaken about something.

Lily laughed and clapped her hands together as her father ruffled her short brown hair. Elise scowled, but her eyes were still dancing.

"Oh, no you don't," she said, slipping out of Sirius's reach as he went to kiss her. "Eavesdroppers—"

"Often hear very informative things. Ask the Weasley boys if you doubt me. I can't tell you how much they heard about the Order back before they were old enough."

Elise's smile dropped, and Sirius realized his mistake a little too late. "I'm sorry, Lis—I forget, sometimes." He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head lightly. Lily was looking in their direction, her pretty blue eyes wide with worry. Sirius smiled encouragingly and nodded towards the living room; the toddler obeyed immediately, slipping off of her big girl chair and waddling out of the room.

"Smart kid," Sirius murmured, turning back to his wife. Her arms were tight around him, head nestled against his chest. He stroked her hair, planting a light kiss on her forehead. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" he said quietly. It was hard to remember, sometimes, that Fred—the boy who'd shared his plans for success, who'd taken up Sirius's old map, who'd been so _like_ him, sometimes—was gone. It seemed like it had only been a matter of days since he'd last seen Fred… and then he was dead.

The thought was a sad one, of course, but for Sirius it was an impersonal sadness. Fred had been a good kid with a lot of potential, but he was not a friend and certainly not family. For Elise, his death had been devastating… especially when paired with so many others.

Sirius's face darkened and he buried it in Elise's hair, breathing the sweet scent of her shampoo and reassuring himself of her warmth, closeness, and life. That was where it became personal—the others, always the others. He'd been gone—he'd been lost behind the veil for too long. And while he was gone, wandering… how many had they lost? Dumbledore—that alone had sent him reeling when he heard. And Fred… Remus…

Remus. A father. Sirius had always teased him about that. He was destined for fatherhood, that much had always been clear. And now Harry—Harry! Who had been nothing but a teenager when Sirius had left—was raising Teddy along with two of his own, and more on the way. Because Remus was dead. He'd died that last night, fighting the last fight alongside the woman he'd fallen in love with…

Sirius had missed that. All of it. His oldest, dearest friend had finally fallen in love. He'd married. Had a child. Sirius hadn't been there to laugh at the wedding, to hold the child, to tease the groom and father-to-be… he hadn't been there when Remus died. Had someone avenged his death? Had someone been with him, to make sure…

Elise shifted in Sirius's arms, leaning back to get a good look at his face. His grip had tightened, and, of course, she had noticed. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but concern for him overwhelmed her own grief. "Sirius?" She reached one hand up to touch his cheek.

He caught the hand and kissed it lightly, smiling at her. "Don't worry, Elise. I'm still here."

She returned the smile, but her eyes were still dark—wary. He smothered a grimace, knowing what she must think—what he had caused her to think—and hating himself for the validity of the worry.

For years, the drifting had been a problem… for days at a time, sometimes even weeks, something flipped a switch in his mind and it was like he had flown back ten years. Or sometimes more. He would wander around the house, trying to find Harry, addressing their cat as Buckbeak, and playing Gobstones with friends long dead. Usually after a long period of trying in vain to bring him back to himself, Elise would finally have to call Harry over—loathe though she was to burden him—and he'd walk with Sirius and explain everything over again, patiently, kindly.

That was always terrible, that remembering… that coming back. While he drifted, Sirius was back with the Order, back in the fight, the person he remembered himself to be. Sometimes—times he dared not think about, dared not consider or dwell on—he was back at Hogwarts with James and Remus and Peter, happy again. And when he came back, whether it was Harry's voice that brought him or Elise's touch or little Lily's tears, he lost them all again. The Marauders were dead now. His friends, his family… his fight. He lost the people dearest to him when he came back, and there was always the look on Elise's face—the fear that _she_ was losing _him_—that wrenched at his heart and made him feel guiltier than he ever remembered feeling. Because every time he left, he hurt her… and a part of him didn't always want to come back.

There were other times that were worse. Times when he drifted to Azkaban, screaming and crying and moaning, confined to a bed in a special room that Elise had been forced to set up so that she and Lily could sleep in peace while they waited for him to come back to them. But she slept with him even on those nights, and sometimes that brought him back; there had been no warmth in Azkaban, and her presence shattered the delusion.

But there was something worse than Azkaban—worse for both of them. Sometimes he drifted back behind the veil, and then there was no way to force him out. He'd simply lie in his separate room, murmuring to himself, just drifting… remembering nothing when he finally returned, simply waking alone and finding days gone by.

Years had gone by behind the veil. But nothing had changed for him, in all that time. When he'd been pulled from the veil, he had been convinced nothing had changed for the world, either…


	2. Chapter 1, Waking Up

Chapter One

Air… _Air…_

It was like ice. Like fire. Like death, all the pain of death, everything that hadn't been… Oh, _God_, what _was_ it? Why did it hurt so fiercely? Why was he still… why was he trying to… when it hurt so terribly just to…?

But air was filling his lungs with or without his permission, filling them to the point of tearing at the seams and ripping him apart from the inside out. From the blackness, he struck out and managed to hit something. For a moment, the pain stopped… but then the dizziness began, and a buzzing, humming, roaring white noise filled his ears.

Deadening, icy cold crept over him and he shivered, shuddering away from it. The dizziness… the cold… the dementors, oh God they were back for him, for him and for Harry… he had to get him away, James's son, James's only…

With a choking, sputtering gasp, he took in a breath and some of the fog cleared. Then another, and another… that was the answer, the key. But breathing had never scared the dementors before… hell, if it had been that simple, they would be stuck with hovering around graveyards where they belonged, bothering no one but the dead…

Sirius's heart stuttered. That was why… that was… he had died.

There was a voice… no, voices. He couldn't be dead. There were voices around him. Live voices, raised and arguing. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but they were nothing like the murmuring, indistinguishable voices he'd heard for… had time passed?

It was cold…

_Breathe, breathe goddammit I have to remember to breathe!_ Sirius screwed up his eyes and forced himself to draw in a slow, deep breath. It hurt like he was swallowing fire, but it meant that he was alive and he was going to stay that way, no matter how much it hurt and how easy it would be to slip back…

"Sirius?" Familiar voice—James?—no, James was dead. Just the thought made Sirius skip a breath. _Don't listen, just—_

"Just breathe, Sirius. Just breathe." Warmth. From somewhere, there was warmth. His hand? That was his hand, his right hand. Slowly, with each breath, the dizziness and pain eased.

"I… I don't believe this—"

"Shhhh. Hearing is the first sense to come back. We can't overwhelm him. And I have to be able to hear him breathe."

Three voices, all distinct. And he was coming back to himself… that was his hand, his right hand that was warm. His back was cold… he was lying on something hard and cold. His body felt too light. But he was alive.

Alive. Dead. What had happened? How-

Bellatrix's face flashed before his eyes, snarling laughter. Red light. And then falling, somehow falling through a curtain…

But no, that didn't make sense. That wasn't death. Green light was death. Red was… he had been Stunned. Maybe hurt himself when he fell, that would explain the pain. Stunned by Bellatrix, because…

His eyes flew open, the last breath he had drawn rattling through his throat as he struggled to sit up.

"Sirius, don't! Relax. Please, Sirius, relax."

The warmth on his right hand moved to his shoulder, restraining him. Someone's hand. The voice was kind, and everyone else was quiet—the fight was over. He had missed it.

"Harry—" Oh, God, speaking was hard… it felt like his throat was being shredded from the inside out. But he had to know. Now that the fog was clearing, the humiliation and anxious guilt were flooding in full-force. He'd been knocked on his ass by a Stunner and managed to miss the whole damn thing. And he had to know what had happened, if everything was okay…

"I'm right here."

The voice was husky, familiar—damn it, damn it, _damn it_, why wouldn't his vision clear up? He could've sworn it was James. He would have sworn on anything; it sounded just like James. It sounded upset.

"… James?" he chanced, turning his head in an effort to see.

He met with silence. The hand on his shoulder tightened. "Something is wrong," the softer voice whispered.

"Not necessarily. We don't know how this—"

"Elise, stay down," the husky, male voice said; the speaker sounded hoarse and spoke haltingly. "You're not much better off than he is."

_Elise?_

Another hand, partner to the one on his shoulder, touched the side of his head. Elise's hands. But she wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be in Scandinavia, unreachable for months. Dumbledore had sent her himself, hoping to reach out to some of the mer community from their base. Had someone called her? How had she gotten there so quickly? Not much better off than he was… had she been hurt?

"What do we do?" her voice was steady, but he could hear the nuances—strain, fatigue, worry, and a faint note of relieved triumph. "Can we move him?"

The last voice was male, firm. Was it Remus? Sirius opened his mouth to ask, but couldn't get enough breath. "We can't apparate, that much is sure. Floo powder may be too much of a strain as well. I don't know if we could get him far enough through a Muggle undetected."

"We could call an ambulance," the hoarse voice suggested.

"A what?"

"No one actually takes Muggle Studies, do they?" Elise sighed. "It's a Muggle form of transportation for the sick. They go straight to their hospitals." The hand touching his face moved slightly, stroking his cheek in a way that seemed absent-minded. "Harry, it's a good idea but I don't think we should risk it. There's too much involved. Neither of us needs a hospital."

Hospital? Muggle transport? What was going on? He wanted so badly to ask… and he wanted so badly to sleep. He settled for focusing on his breathing and leaning into Elise's hand. So long since he'd seen her… months. Longer since she'd touched him like this… years, easily years since he'd given this up. It was worth the silent pain and anxiety to have it back, even just for now. Even just for a few moments while he could feign insensibility a little longer and pretend…

_Harry._ She'd said Harry's name. Again his eyes opened; there were colors this time, but little more. Was it Harry? Was Harry there?

"What do we tell him?" Elise murmured. Sirius's pulse spiked again. What did they tell him? About what? What was there that was so bad they would have to explain? What would they _not_ tell him?

"Elise," the second male voice, the firm one, was too tender as he addressed her, and too close—he was right there, maybe with his hand on her shoulder. Who the bloody _hell_ was he? And where was Harry? And where was he? "We don't have to make these decisions right now. Give him some of this, and let yourself rest."

There was another pause, and her hand ceased its comforting movement up and down his cheek. "You're right, Ivan. I- you're right."

Sirius tried to blink rapidly, hoping to regain his sight, but he could barely lift and drop his eyelids. His lips parted and he tried to speak, to ask all of the questions he had, but he just couldn't.

"But…? But what, Lis?" There was amusement in the voice, soft and all-too-familiar amusement, and it was maddening. What had happened to him? What had happened to the fight? Where did Elise come from? Was she okay? Was he okay? Where was Harry? Where were the Death Eaters? What had happened to the prophecy? Why was he just lying there? Why couldn't he speak, move, see… _breathe_? Who was this stranger who spoke to Elise with that knowingness, that familiarity, that sickening, arrogant, condescending attentiveness?

"… never mind. You're right. I'm being…"

"I know what you mean, Elise." Was that hoarse, husky voice really Harry? It was softened as he addressed Elise—but that wasn't right. Harry didn't trust Elise. Dammit, why couldn't he summon up the energy to just sit up and ask these questions? Why didn't someone just heal him and get it over with? "I don't want to… no, I know what you mean. But… God, I didn't think this would… I didn't think this was possible."

"We're glad to have you back, Elise. It was a big risk."

"What else could I do?" she asked, so quietly that even Sirius barely heard her. Or… was his hearing going again?

_Breathe, breathe. Deep breaths._

And then suddenly he was breathing something thicker than air. The cool glass of a potions vial was pressed to his lips, and he tasted something like spearmint and lemongrass. "We'll be here when you wake up, Sirius," Elise whispered. The vial was withdrawn as he swallowed, and her hand brushed over his forehead. "You won't have nightmares. And when you wake up, this one will be over."

Darkness rolled over him, but he opened his mouth to protest all the same. He was asleep before he could even finish the thought— she was wrong. It was slipping away to somewhere that was too far away to help and losing them all over again. That was the nightmare.


End file.
